"A tolerably shrewd night, Monsieur," he said with a friendly gesture.
"It is the frost in the air, my son," the priest responded in a mellow barytone.

"May Saint Ignatius listen kindly to the poor.

Ah, this gulf you call Paris, I like it not." "You are but recently arrived ?" asked the Chevalier politely.
"I came two days ago.

I leave for Rouen this night." "What! you travel at night, and leave a cheery tavern like this ?" All at once the crinkle of a chill ran across the Chevalier's shoulders.
The thumb, the forefinger and the second of the priest's left hand were twisted, reddened stumps.
"Yes, at night; and the wind will be rough, beyond the hills.

But I have suffered worse discomforts;" and to this statement the priest added a sour smile.